Mags' Story
by cindylili
Summary: Mags Davis is 80 years old. She remembers her whole life, from before the Uprising, to the 75th Hunger Games.
1. Before the Reaping

**My first fanfic! Please read and review ;D (Mags and Panem doesn't belong to me, it's all Suzanne Collins' creation)**

I've lived a long life. Eighty years. Most people in Panem can't say the same.

Even though I wish I didn't, I remember everything that happened. Before the Games. Before the Uprising.

* * *

><p>I was born in a small house in District 4. I could see the ocean from my window. My sister Lisa had taught me to swim when I was young. She'd laughed and splashed water at my brother Matthew. Matt would always splash back, grinning.<p>

4-year-old Maggie didn't understand when Father came home tense, or when Mother and Father would talk quietly with each other, or when Lisa stopped playing with Matt and I. It was strange. Matt knew, but he didn't tell me. I thought they were keeping a secret, planning a surprise. I didn't know that people would start screaming, that men in suits would attack us, here, in District 4. They used strange weapons, and killed everyone they could see.

Lisa grabbed Matt's hand and told me to hold on tight to her back. She ran, out onto the beach and up a hill and into a cave. She let me down and told us to stay. Matt tried to keep her back, but Lisa shook him off and promised to come back.

She came back. But Mother and Father didn't.

Afterward, Lisa told us to stay with Aunt Julie. I heard her say to her, "I know, but this is more important. I'm trying to create a better future for them."

I didn't understand, but later I did.

* * *

><p>After the fighting, Lisa didn't come back. Aunt Julie said that she was gone, but she fought bravely. We went to a ceremony, a funeral, of Mother and Father and Lisa. I cried and clung on to Matt's hand. His face was grave. "Too grave for an eight-year-old," Aunt Julie said.<p>

Lisa had tried to make a better future for us. But when, the next day, we stood in the market square of District 4 and the announcements came on, about District 13, and the Hunger Games, all I could think was, _They died for nothing_.

And it was true. Twenty-four kids, ages 12-18, were sent into an arena a week later. They were dressed up, videotaped, and interviewed. And they had to kill each other.

Bravely, they refused. They talked scathingly of the Capitol in their 3 minutes of showtime. When the gong sounded, the twenty-four children sat on their plates and refused to move. The Gamemakers from the Capitol tried to force them to kill each other. They sent animals, floods, fire, thunder, everything. Nothing worked. The kids sat on their plates, and died of thirst and starvation. And Aunt Julie had _smiled_, and said that it was good. "An honorable death."

I could still see the faces of the starving tributes - no, _children_. They shouldn't be remembered as tributes. But that's how I remembered them. The girl who burned to death in a Capitol-made fire. The boy who got torn to pieces by Capitol-made wolves. The boy who lasted longer than the others, and fell over his plate, dying.

None of them screamed. None of them cried. "They died defying the Capitol," Aunt Julie would say proudly.

But the year after, the kids immediately started killing each other, and Matt covered my eyes with his hand. But I could still hear the commentary, the screams, the final winner's name. And I overheard someone in the crowd mutter, "I wonder what they did to the first tributes' families."

Matt covered my eyes every time a death was coming, but sometimes there was no warning. When the screen suddenly cut to a boy stabbing someone else with a sword, I gasped. But soon I got used to it, used to seeing the blood and weapons and death, and that scared me more than anything.

The Hunger Games was the norm, and I tried to remember life before them, when we didn't have to watch people killing others on TV.

Then Matt turned twelve, and his name appeared in the reaping bowl. Aunt Julie and I were afraid for him. But he was safe, and others were called, and I saw one twelve-year-old cry on the podium, and I thought of Matt.

When I turned twelve, I had to put my name in the reaping bowl also. I was worried, but Matt had 5 slips of paper in there, so I was more worried for him.

That year, there was a volunteer. A big eighteen-year-old, who looked like he had been training to kill. Matt said that he probably _did_ train himself, just for the Games. I wondered what his family was thinking.

But then he came back, as the winner. And a murderer. He lived in the little village set aside just for future winners, and stayed away from everyone. There were rumors about him. He had no family. He killed his family. His family was killed by the Capitol. He practiced killing on animals and left the bodies on the ground. He bought weapons and burglar alarms. He didn't talk to anyone. On the Victory Tour, he said few words and spent most of the time standing still with his fists clenched. Others had to talk for him.

We all avoided him, the person who had killed a girl with his bare hands, who gutted a boy with a sword and walked away emotionlessly, who stabbed a boy in the head with a dagger, who killed a girl so slowly with a smile on his face. He was almost a legend, but not a good one.

* * *

><p>When I was fifteen years old, my name was called.<p>

"Mags Davis."

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><p><strong>So, what did you think? Leave a review!<strong>

**~Cindy**


	2. The Games

**Second chapter, hope you like it! Read and review ;D**

That was me. My name. Mags.

I was going to the Hunger Games.

Telling myself to be strong, I march up to the podium, where our district escort from the Capitol is reaching her hand into the boys' bowl.

I avoid Matt and Aunt Julie's eyes – they would make me burst into tears, and I didn't need that when I was on national television.

When we had the hour to say our goodbyes, only Aunt Julie and Matt came. That was what I wanted. They were the only ones I cared about.

Matt gripped my hand, and I remembered another time when he did this, to comfort me, when Lisa was dead. Now I was going to die.

"You can win, Maggie. You're smart, you're resourceful, you can do this." Matt had said.

But Aunt Julie had said, "Stay true to yourself. Don't let the Games change you."

* * *

><p>Watching the Reapings, I noticed that the tributes from District Two looked trained. You can tell, easily, that they know how to kill.<p>

Me, I looked small and insignificant. But at least I didn't look scared.

* * *

><p>My mentor wasn't much help. He gave some advice, but he'd said, "I'd given up a long time ago. It's better not to win the Games."<p>

* * *

><p>I learned fast. I knew, from training, which plants were poisonous and which weren't. I could start a fire and camouflage myself decently. I didn't spend any time at the fighting stations, since I knew I wouldn't be able to beat anyone in an actual fight. Matt used to tease me, saying that the wind could knock me down. I wouldn't be able to win in a straight-up fight.<p>

But there are other ways to kill people.

* * *

><p>When we did the personal training with the Gamemakers, I just showed them survival skills. It got me a score of 4, but it was all I had.<p>

I didn't have many sponsors. Everyone gave their money to the giant killing machines from District 2.

* * *

><p>The gong sounded, and I ran – into the Cornucopia. Dodging the fighting, I grabbed the nearest backpack and ran. A knife, aimed at someone else, hit the ground near me, and I grabbed it and continued running.<p>

No one else noticed the small girl, with the low score of 4, run into the woods.

* * *

><p>I saw a tribute, lying in a clearing. I could've killed him. That would be the easier route. Slit his throat and be done with it. That's what anyone else would've done.<p>

But I couldn't.

He wasn't very smart, sleeping without even trying to hide. But he was human too. His family was watching the screens right now, with bated breath, hoping for him to wake up. I couldn't kill him.

_It's either him or me._

And being the coward that I was, I chose me.

* * *

><p>I woke up to a sound.<p>

I stayed in my small shelter between some bushes and listened. It was dark, and completely quiet. But I knew I hadn't imagined it.

Then a girl ran straight at me.

I immediately jumped up and to the side, my hand reaching for my knife. But I knew that I wouldn't win, not against a trained fighter.

This tribute was from District 1, I recognized. She looked thin. Probably didn't get any food when the tributes from One and Two split up their alliance.

She had a sword, a thin, deadly blade. I ducked and ran, dropping some berries from my fingers. It was a long shot, but I was desperate.

Luckily, the tribute wasn't too bright. She probably thought that I dropped them in my haste. Whatever her reason, she stopped chasing me for a second to pick up a berry and popped it in her mouth.

She fell to the ground. A cannon sounded.

* * *

><p>"I don't want to have to kill you."<p>

Willow, the girl from District 10, decided to break off our alliance. We worked well as a team, sneaking around and surviving. We even took down a boy from Seven, together. But it was down to five tributes, and I understood.

"I'll leave after tonight," I said.

Willow nodded, and we began dividing up our supplies.

_I don't want to have to kill you either, Willow,_ I think as I slip some deadly poison in her bread.

* * *

><p>"The winner of the 10th Annual Hunger Games is… Mags Davis!"<p>

A hovercraft comes to pick me up. Normally I would be examining it, committing it to memory. I used to be curious how the Capitol built their hovercrafts. But now, I barely notice myself being pulled up and laid out on a bed.

I had no serious injuries. At least, not physically. You don't get physical injuries when you kill people with careful tricks and poisonous plants. Instead, you feel nothing. As if nothing happened. A bit of pain would've been nice. Just to know that I was alive.

I sat on the throne, wearing a beautiful blue dress. My skin was healed of all the scratches and scars from the Games. When I walked onstage, the Capitol people cheered and whistled.

I barely saw them.

They put the Games on the screen, and I knew that I shouldn't watch, but I couldn't tear my eyes away.

They shot past the Reapings and the chariot rides. I saw myself on the interview seat, but the favorites were from District 2, and they died. My interview had been short and useless.

Five minutes into the video, the Games started. The camera swept across the plain, catching blood and death onscreen. The camera flashed to me, a small, unnoticeable tribute weaving through the bloodbath and into the forest.

Then the cameras concentrated on the tributes from Districts One and Two. They were strong, and even went out at night to look for tributes to kill. The girl from Two held a sword so easily, I was sure she had trained.

They showed me killing the sleeping boy. My face was emotionless.

The boy and girl from Two died fighting each other, and the tributes from One separated. I remembered what happened next, but I still watched, as she picked up the berries I dropped and ate them.

Then I found Willow, and we teamed up to survive, sharing food and knowledge. But throughout the whole alliance, I always knew that Willow would have to die for me to go home. They showed one conversation we had:

"You know that this alliance can't go on forever." I was looking through a backpack. The boy from Seven was wearing it when we killed him.

Willow laughed. "I know. We can break it off when a few more tributes die."

Afterwards, it scared me how easily Willow talked about killing. But at the time, I hadn't flinched.

"And if it comes down to us?"

Willow looked me in the eye. "You understand this, just as much as I do. I _will_ kill you if I have to."

I had no doubt about that. Willow was strong, she could hold a weapon, and she was loyal to her family – enough to do anything to get home. In that respect, we were a lot alike.

"So will I."

The cameras concentrated on me when we broke off the alliance, and even added in a slow-motion closeup when I stuffed a few poisonous leaves in her food. It's a blur, I did it so quickly, but it became obvious after Willow stopped moving and settled down for the night, when she took out her food and bit into it. She fell to the ground, but she didn't immediately die. She was in pain for a few minutes before the cannon sounded. During those minutes, I could tell that she knew who had killed her.

The Mags on the screen didn't even flinch when she saw Willow's face in the sky.

I realized that I never actually got in a real, physical fight, with weapons and swords. The tributes from District Two put up a great show, with blood, dirty tricks, and mocking laughter. My final battle was simply me, hidden in a tree, watching a boy step into my trap. He got trapped underneath a net, and I killed him with my knife.

I felt, underneath the folds of my dress, that same knife that kept me safe. I'd refused to go anywhere without it, and the doctors couldn't keep sedating me, so they agreed.

After the three-hour replay of the Games, Caesar interviewed me, calling me smart and cunning and amazing, and the Capitol laughed and agreed and cheered. I answered his questions with all the right words, but my heart wasn't in it.

I wondered what Aunt Julie would say. About the traps, the poison, my long kill list. _Don't let the Games change you._

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